Analytic Geometry



The symmetry of my life

Could be a sequence of mirror images

Of days, weeks, or years,

Divided at, say age thirty;


But, of course, it couldn’t be

Because the life cycle is well known

To advance in stages



Youth they say

Resembles the older ages and puberty

Poised like a ballerina before the dance

Might profitably be compared with age fifty.


Symmetry then

Is not out of the question

Except possibly in the short run

Where, anyway, it would be a bore.


It is a peculiar symmetry I’ll admit

Stretched out by time

Growing a little here

Shrinking a little there.


Like a wave upon the ocean

Which at longitude nineteen degrees

Is not quite the same

When the cycle is complete at nineteen plus.


The change occurs by increments

Ever so slightly

Until the wave is dashed

Upon the shore.


Then a twist,

The tide goes out.

A new wave or something

Like the back side of a leaf.


The coastline, the stemline

Both exist.

Then, there is the line

Of my own reflectivity.


Where memories of childhood become not just memories.

First light is dittoed

And feelings, etc.


It is a line wholly imagined

Though no less real.

I catch glimpses

From time to time

Looking from both sides.


A peculiar geometry

Embodied in time.